Estate of Gracelessness

I've been walking every day, although it has mostly been on city streets. I'd rather be walking along a trail in the hills, but usually I end up walking through the local neighborhoods, sometimes with Jeanine, and sometimes alone. Today, while Jeanine was at work, I wandered downtown to get the newest Walking Dead comic book (yeah, the TV show has inspired me to start reading comic books again - it's never too late to have a happy childhood). I picked up a Mexican mocha at the coffee shop on the way home, and then made a detour to check out an estate sale at this monolithic, gray house that we always pass and wonder about. It was obviously built back when buildings were still allowed to have character, and it's one of those houses that looks like it would be a good setting for an upsetting story. I went in more out of a desire to see the inside of it than for any other reason. Plus, I've never been to an estate sale before. We didn't have one after my mom died. Due to the overwhelming amount of stuff, my dad eventually just had someone come and haul the remaining items away (after we'd either donated or claimed the important things, of course).

The house, despite having a small, unimpressive backyard, was interesting, with large rooms and a basement. Much of it was cordoned off though. The original owner of the things being sold seemed to have been an artist with an interest in theater (although I wasn't impressed by any of the art on offer). There was also an old violin and a clarinet amongst the less useful stuff, although they didn't seem in the best of repair. People vultured about, clutching the detritus of someone else's passing, many of them looking elderly enough to be approaching their own personal estate sales. It's sometimes strange and impersonal the way our worldly possessions are redistributed after we're gone.

I only bought this:

I think my stepdaughter will like it, since she's into creepy things, especially creepy dolls. She'll get it for her birthday next month. An elderly lady near me said something about repairing it, or at least reattaching the legs. I replied that it was much more pleasingly creepy in its dismembered condition. She huffed disdainfully. Some people have no appreciation for aesthetically pleasing disrepair.

As with every walk I've taken along city streets, I saw more people exhibiting an inability to follow basic traffic rules. Today, one of them was a cop, who evidently didn't know who was supposed to have the right of way in an intersection. Stupid cop.

At home, Dexter the cat silently expressed his dislike for my music: